


If you get lost, you can always be found

by TheSwissGuy



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:43:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwissGuy/pseuds/TheSwissGuy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first dive back into fanfiction since forever. I love both of these players.<br/>Let's see how this develops. The chapters may be as short as this opener or rather long, I'll play it by ear. I kind of have the story until the present day laid out and I'm obviously trying to use actual dates and events as orientation for you and myself for this story. I guess it's the fanfiction version of stand-up comedy, I have to improvise to current events ;-)</p>
<p>If you like it, please leave kudos or comment, I'd love to hear your feedback (also criticisms).<br/>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The only way you can know (Is give it all you have)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215981) by [dezemberzarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezemberzarin/pseuds/dezemberzarin). 



> This is my first dive back into fanfiction since forever. I love both of these players.  
> Let's see how this develops. The chapters may be as short as this opener or rather long, I'll play it by ear. I kind of have the story until the present day laid out and I'm obviously trying to use actual dates and events as orientation for you and myself for this story. I guess it's the fanfiction version of stand-up comedy, I have to improvise to current events ;-)
> 
> If you like it, please leave kudos or comment, I'd love to hear your feedback (also criticisms).  
> Enjoy!

It hurts. It just hurts him seeing his life fall into little bits and pieces and shards. What's left of Stan Wawrinka's marriage is laying, broken in a million pieces, strewn around him. And he's lost too many matches lately. The loss to Robin Haase in Indian Wells hurt as much as the one to Mannarino in Miami. He agreed with his wife that the reasons for their splitting would be kept strictly confidential, nobody was allowed to know what was going on behind the scenes. Ilham had been furious when Stan told her towards the end of the last year that he's been having odd feelings lately. He couldn't explain it but he knew that those feelings were draining the ones he had for his wife. Trying to explain that to her, seeing her broken face after the decision was final was what hurt most. He wanted to make it all good again, fix it all with the right words as he had already once done when they split but reconciled. But this time was different. For one, it was him that was leaving. And she was not making any effort really to try to keep him at her side. And that's when he knew with ninety-five percent certainty that this was over. But he reaches the full 100% in Monte Carlo.

It's great to be back at the spot where just a year ago he wrote tennis history together with Roger, forming the only Swiss Masters 1000 Final to this present day. And he wrote some more history when he won that final, winning his second big tournament after the Aussie Open. And here he is, one year later, ready to defend his title. This year started off pretty well, winning two of the first three tournaments. Sadly, the one he didn't win was the one he was seeking to defend the most intensely. And after seeing the draw he's pretty excited. Roger and him are to meet early on in the quarter finals so Roger would certainly seek revenge for the loss of one of the few tournaments he's never won. Him and Roger both win their first rounds easily and are scheduled for the last match before facing each other on the same day. Magnus is confident that Stan is gonna win, his head-to-head being 2:1 in his favor against today's opponent. And as the alarm clock that has accompanied him for years now rings in Stan's ears he checks the date: 16. April.

As soon as he steps out of the locker room he feels it. He knows what's been going on with his marriage for months now as soon as he looks at his opponent's face. All those feeling he's desperately tried to ignite for Ilham are now burning like an out of control bushfire the second he locks eyes with Grigor. He doesn't understand at first but it only takes a few seconds. Stan is reminded how he was supposed to feel towards his wife, he remembers all the feelings that were gone and lost. "Errm, tu ne veux pas jouer?" Stan blinks and looks over where a beautiful lady is looking at him with a slight look of concern. "Mais, oui!" He regains control of himself just a split-second later, smiling at the young lady who is now escorting him through the hallways towards the court. Grigor is walking in front of him, his ass cheeks looking deliciously juicy from this angle. He's definitely been doing his squats sessions, Stan thinks to himself and has to smile a cheeky smile. It feels right, it comes naturally and it feels liberating.


	2. Monte Carlo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, this is a bit awkward."
> 
> "No, it's fine. I sucked today and you were great, a well-deserved win."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them. :-)  
> Also I would love if someone would offer to proof-read the chapters before they go up.

The whole match is a blur and Stan can't really remember what just happened. He was absent-minded and he'd have to delicately maneuver around what the true reason for that was at the press conference. As he sits in the locker room after his shower he can't help but smile; This must be the best loss ever. It just takes him a minute to realize that he blew the chance of the Swiss quarterfinal and he turns on the TV. As soon as it turns on Stan hears the door to the locker room being opened and he sees Grigor coming in. It's rather unusual that two players are by themselves in the same locker room after a match and Grigor voices Stan's thoughts:

"Well, this is a bit awkward."

"No, it's fine. I sucked today and you were great, a well-deserved win."

"Thanks," he replies, now smiling.

It's only now that Stan realizes Grigor's uncovered top half of his body. His torso looks beautiful, the muscles just perfectly defined. This is not a tennis player standing in front of him, it must be a model. Or a Greek god. Grigor reaches out to shake Stan's hand and the latter takes the invitation, shaking his hand in a buddy kind of way. But it's different that that clap at the end of every match. His hand is much more tender, almost soft, his dark brown eyes that Stan got lost in before the game are sparkling a bit, his smile is not the automated one that he has for the cameras, it's genuine. And before he knows it, Grigor has pulled Stan up from his bench into a strong hug. Stan is so surprised that his coordination goes straight down the drain, his hands hanging loosely at his sides as the strong man holds him tightly. He nearly is intoxicated by his smell of fresh shower gel and cologne.

"Hey, Roger's playing!" Grigor says as he lets go of Stan.

As soon as he finishes his sentence they hear the umpire through the TV speakers: "Game, set and match Mister Monfils."

"So I guess I'm not the only one to fuck up today. That'll make it a lot easier." Stan's facial expression dims immediately as he reminds himself of his athletic failures of the last few months and that reminds him of his personal failures over the last few months.

"Hey, cheer up. Next tournament will be better. I'll try not to get in your way then," he jokes.

"Everything's going to the shitter at the same time."

"Why, what's going on?" Grigor sits down on the bench.

"Just personal stuff. Family and things."

"Well, obviously you don't have to tell me anything but I'd be happy to be you psychologist and listener. Maybe we can help each other, it's not been all roses and daisies with Maria either."

"You're kidding, right? You and her are like meant to be."

"Well, lately I'm not so sure of that anymore."

"Wow, I'm sorry to hear that. She must be out of her mind to let you go. You're such a good player, you're so sympathetic and likable, you're a great sportsman and, let's face it, you're hot!"

As an unreadable look flashes over Grigor's face and lingers there for a second, Stan bites on his tongue, not knowing if he's gone too far with that last sentence and his opponent would sniff something out. But Grigor puts up his bright smile right away again:

"Those compliments mean a lot, coming from you, because let's be honest, you're much better in all of those things you listed, including the last one." There was that unreadable expression again, flashing across his face without his smile ever leaving. "Anyway, I should get going now because, unlike you, I have a match to prepare for."

Stan punches him in the stomach a bit harder than he intended to but Grigor seems completely unfazed and prepared for the blow as he flexes his abs quickly.

"Watch out what you're saying, big boy." Stan can't wipe the grin off his face

"I finally got to tie the head-to-head. And upwards it is, from now till forever."

"Shut up and get the fuck out of here."

"I will gladly."

"I'll rip you to pieces next time you face me."

"Sure." And with that Grigor exits the room.


	3. Overdue Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You sound like a teenager."

Stan knows what will have to happen now. He's dreading every little bit and was afraid of how his soon-to-be ex-wife will react. But he wants to do it on his own, that's why he asked Magnus to sit this one out. As he's sitting in First Class on the flight approaching Geneva Airport, he's mind basically shuts off. It's shut off as he lands. It's shut off as he reclaims his baggage. It's shut off as he sees Ilham standing, waiting for him. It's shut off as they reach what was once their home. It's shut off as they step into the living room and as he pours them both a glass of the best whiskey he owns. And since Stan hasn't said a word since they both saw each other at the airport, she starts:

"So what's so important that you had to see me now? And this must be big, because that whiskey has been sitting in there for years untouched." And that's when his brain turns on.

*

He was expecting blank stares, shouting, even tears. But as he sees her reaction, he's the one to stare at her blankly. As if he told her what Alexia had for dinner, that's how she's reacting.

"Ok. So since when do you know what you're telling me?"

He wants to say something but he is in such a shock, he can't even close his mouth.

"Are you having a stroke?"

"No. No. I'm just -"

"Stop stammering. You know I hate that."

"Yeah. Yeah, right."

"So since when do you like men?"

"I - I don't know."

"Bullshit. It must have been recently. Get your brain working, for God's sake."

"Yeah, you're right. I don't know, I've just been crushing on someone lately and he's gorgeous."

She's smiling now. She's  _smiling_. "You sound like a teenager."

"Aren't you shocked at all?"

"Well, yes, kinda. Let's say I would've been shocked half a year ago. But seeing you - I don't know. Is it a player you are crushing on?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, well I think you an Grigor would look cute together."

Ok, she has to stop. Because,  _seriously_. "What the fuck? Where the hell do you have that information from?"

"I still care about you. I still care about our daughter, who you're the father of. I care about your life. And I'm still getting over the fact that we will never be again. And I watch your games. The way you played against Dimitrov made me suspicious. Rarely have I seen you so unfocussed and, sorry, bad. He dominated you in every possible way. And you're better than him, I know that.  
You know, I still know you and you'll still be in my life after we divorce, not only because of Alexia but also because I still care about you. I don't know who'll eventually get to know you as good as I do, but until then I still have that position."

"You really do know me."

He feels a particular sting in his eye that's bothering him a lot. He doesn't want to cry, not now. She gets up and pulls him up from his chair into a firm hug. He isn't prepared for that and just hangs limply in her arms. He feels the flashback to a specific situation not quite three days ago and now he can't hold back the tears. He tucks his face into the crook of her neck and can't help but let out an almost silent sob, his whole body shaking with the emotions. She holds him until he separates and she wipes away the two little trails of tears on his cheeks.

"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. You'll always be strong," Ilham whispers and now they're both smiling. "Wanna check by Alexia?"

"She's here?"

"Yes, I put her to sleep here so you could still see her before you leave tomorrow morning."

"Of course I'll see her!"

*

As he sits in his plane on his way to Madrid, he's writing the public communiqué on his computer and he publishes it as soon as he's installed himself in his hotel room. But a reaction was quick to come as his phone vibrates and he sees a message from Ilham:

"Are you fucking serious?"

"What do you mean?"

"That statement. Are you actually gonna make me look like the idiot in this?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, you have succeeded in just that. But trust me, I'll be defending myself. I won't let you just stomp on me like that."

"Wait, what do you mean? I didn't stomp on anybody!"

She's now not answering him anymore. He anxiously waits 10 minutes. 20 minutes. Then he frantically calls Lawrence:

"Franko, help me!"

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you publish a statement about this without running it past me?"

"Ilham texted me and I need your help!"

"Well, clearly you're not making any sense. I just arrived in Madrid yesterday for a meeting with Gaël. I'm already on my way to your hotel, I'll be there in 5."

*

"Seriously, why wouldn't you run this past me? I would've handled it for you, that's my job."

"Please come in. I'm so sorry."

"Well, whatever. It's not horrible, let's just do some damage control here. Show me your phone and tell me what happened when you were in Lausanne."

And then Stan tells Lawrence everything. From the first look at Grigor and the match until his talk with Ilham and his statement. He doesn't miss a detail and more than once he has an excess of water in his eyes that he has to blink away furiously so that they don't spill onto his face. Lawrence Frankopan just watches him and listens until Stan finishes his description of the last week.

"Ok, well then. Whatever she says we're gonna stay quiet unless she really fires at you way below the belt. She is gonna fire some shots, that's obvious. But I doubt she would want to destroy this whole thing. What's important is: You're not allowed to take whatever she says personal, do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"And you won't text her either."

"Ok, but I have to send her a last text before I break off contact."

"Fine, do that. But show me before you send it, for crying out loud."

"Yeah, I've understood that now."

As soon as Lawrence approves with a short nod, Stan presses the send button. He immediately checks if it was sent and repeats the message silently:

I'm sorry for posting that, I didn't mean it the way it came across. You should go to the press and clarify, though I hope you won't say anything to hurt me. And until after you went to the press, Lawrence doesn't want me talking to you. Take care of Alexia, I'll hopefully be back soon.  
Love

And then a little notification next to his sent message pops up: _Seen, 14:08_.


	4. Madrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You won fair and square. No need for apologies."
> 
> "Thanks."

Stan has been nervous from the first moment he had seen the draw. Grigor only had to win twice and Stan once for them to meet in the Round of the last 16. He had beaten him here before already, in 2013, when Grigor had taken out Novak and smoothed the way for him to storm into the final, losing there to Rafa.

And so, when that day of the eighth final arrives, he wakes up a long time before his alarm clock is supposed to take over that job. He lies in bed wondering how the game will turn out. What will happen this time round? He grabs his laptop and goes online to look at some pictures of Grigor. God, that kid is handsome. Why hasn't he noticed before? He opens a new tab to check the news but the first thing to pop up is a tabloid article dissecting his soon-to-be ex-wife's public statement. It could've been better, but it also could've been worse, he thinks to himself. Stan gets up and takes a bath.

He decides that with all the sexual tension he won't make a single point on the court. Stan has to take care of that. I'm gonna have a good cum, that'll clear my mind, he concludes. And so, before he gets into the tub, he takes out a small bottle of lube and squirts some onto his index and middle finger. He's only done this twice before but it had felt so good. Stan sits into the empty bathtub, getting himself comfortable and then puts his left hand to his hole. He pushes in one finger slowly, curling it upwards right away. His dick reacts immediately, lifting up from its half-morning-wood state into a rock-hard position. The until now inactive right hand grabs his dick and slowly starts tugging it. He closes his eyes and pictures of Grigor flash through his brain. _Grigor on the court, Grigor hitting a ball, Grigor wiping his sweat by lifting the bottom of his shirt and showing his abs._ Stan pushes in a second finger and moans immediately. _Grigor in the locker room, Grigor in the locker room in Monte Carlo._ Stan starts moving his two fingers in and out, brushing that one spot every time he goes in.  _Grigor standing there with his shirt off, Grigor holding his hand, Grigor hugging him, his bare torso against his body._ Now Stan's imagination leaves reality. His eyes are still closed, his left hand massaging his prostate with two fingers, his right hand rubbing his hard cock quicker now.  _Grigor pulling away from the hug, Grigor biting his neck gently, Grigor running his hand up and down Stan's back and ass, Grigor losing his towel, Grigor kissing him._ That's when Stan comes with a force he hasn't felt before. He blasts an above-average number of spurts, hitting the bathtub, his upper body and even his cheek. He then just lays there for a minute with his fingers still moving in his ass before gathering the cum on his cheek  and bringing it to his mouth. It tastes different this time than the other two times he's tasted it. It tastes... sweeter. And better. Stan wants more of it. He gathers the rest on his abs and chest and feeds it to himself again.

*

"Game, set and match Dimitrov."

This can't be true. How did this happen again? Stan is walking towards the net for the shake-hands.

As soon as he gets there, Grigor mutters: "I'm sorry I broke my promise."

"You won fair and square. No need for apologies."

"Thanks." And there's that smile again.

*

The moment Stan gets into the locker room he turns on the TV and takes his sweat-drenched shirt off. As he turns up the volume from mute he hears the speaker shout something in Spanish. The only thing he understands is his name, Grigor Dimitrov. The picture shows his face with the automated smile, not the one Stan knows from Monte Carlo. His eyes still look very happy though. Stan sits down on the bench and can't help it. He just starts crying. He is currently the world number 9, falling down from 3 after his win at the Australian Open last year. It seems like it's just going downward everywhere.

He is still crying, his face in his palms when the door opens and Grigor walks in.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

Stan can't deal with this now. The man he's crushing on cannot just see a complete breakdown right now. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Congratulations again. But I should get going," he says as he gets up.

Grigor grabs his wrist and pulls him back down on the bench with him. "You're incredible, you know? You've lost, it's clearly hurting you, but the first thing that comes to your mind is 'congratulations'. How do you do that? If I were crying because of a match I could never congratulate the other one again." His smile is comforting.

"I'm not only crying because of the match, their are other things at stake here."

"Well, last time I offered to listen to your problems. Now I demand you tell me."

"I can't, not to you anyways."

"Why me specifically?" Stan looks up at his face and sees the hurt look. His heart twists one more time.

"I... It's not because of... you. I just don't know what I'm feeling."

"Tell me."

"I told you I can't tell you this."

"Be confident. Tell me." Grigor is grinning now again. Why is he smiling?

"No way."

"I know what you're going to say. Say it."

"Fine. I'm falling for you."

It should be a relief, having admitted this to the third person in his life. The third person being someone he knew almost solely on a professional level until now. The third person also being the one who started it all. But all Stan is feeling is tense. How will this be received? Even if he says he knew what Stan was going to say, Grigor was surely not expecting this. How could he anyways? Stan is waiting for a response for what feels like minutes until Grigor puts his hand to the back of his neck and mutters:

"Same."

Stan almost panics as Grigor's words are still being processed and he is coming closer already. The warmth of his hand on the back of his neck calms him though so when Grigor's lips meet his, he kisses back. Their lips part slowly, Grigor's tongue darting out almost aggressively though. It feels like his tongue is looking for something in his mouth, a specific treasure he seems to have lost sometime in there. Stan feels an amazing warmth spreading through his body, originating at the core of his body. His mind kicks in after a minute or two and he pushes Grigor gently but firmly away from him:

"What the hell was that?"

"Not now."

"What do you mean 'not now', you crazy bastard? Are you pranking me?"

"Of course not!" Grigor seems offended now which makes Stan even more defensive. "I thought you wanted this, you just told me you were falling for me."

"That doesn't mean that I'm ready for THIS."

"Well then", Grigor barely whispers with teary eyes as he gets up, "call me when you are."

"Wait! Can't we talk about this?"

"Not now. Maybe later this week." Grigor doesn't even turn around as he's speaking.

"I'm getting on a plane tomorrow! We won't be able to talk later on."

"Great. Then you'll have some time to think."

And that's when the door is slammed shut.


End file.
